


sweet blood on the razor

by dopaminekeeper



Series: god is in the detail [1]
Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Blood Kink, Choke Collars, Dom/sub, Fighting Kink, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Kink, OT6 (implied) - Freeform, Painplay, Petplay, Power Dynamics, Rough Body Play, Vampires, Werewolves, dickstepping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29097624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dopaminekeeper/pseuds/dopaminekeeper
Summary: there's a coven up on 71st street, and a man with a leash, and a dog in need of taming.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho, Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Yeo Hwanwoong
Series: god is in the detail [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136438
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	sweet blood on the razor

**Author's Note:**

> title from ‘laying down the law’ by inxs (off the impeccable 'lost boys' OST)
> 
> this is the first fic in what i hope will be a series of connected one-shots centering around modern vampire coven oneus! this one features a cameo from wolf pack a.c.e. as well.
> 
> cw for relatively intense descriptions of rough body play (punching/kicking); blood kink.

Seoho doesn’t enjoy negotiations by any stretch of the imagination, never has in his six hundred years. But Hwanwoong keeps him in the room as an observer, making sure no one tries any dirty tricks or underhanded maneuvers while the main conversation unfolds over maps and documents and, these days, tablet screens.

Youngjo sits across the parlor, closer to Hwanwoong, since he knows a couple of the guys in this pack. That’s always been his job — knowing people. There’s not a group in this city where Youngjo doesn’t have a friend, or a friend-of-a-friend, or the descendant of a lover, or someone who owes him a debt.

Seoho has never understood how Youngjo passes so freely between the groups in this city. Whenever Seoho tries, he’s met with the kind of distrust that necessitates these negotiations in the first place, but Youngjo has friends in other covens and wolf packs and warlock clans. Vampires are notoriously insular, sometimes keeping entirely to themselves for decades at a time, but Hwanwoong and Youngjo have never abided by those rules. It had certainly been a shake-up when Dongju had joined them, but then, fae were always known for following their own fancies despite anyone else’s laws.

The negotiations have been going for an hour at this point, the room’s air oppressive and stale. Seoho almost wishes something interesting would happen at this point, just so he doesn't feel like he's wasting time that could be spent doing something infinitely more valuable. Unfortunately, it seems like Junhee, their pack leader, is prepared to keep everything above board in their negotiations.

"We're not willing to cede above Seventh Street," Junhee says, fingers tapping on the table. “We’ve had runners on that strip for years, it’s effectively claimed.”

“Effective isn’t official. You’re lucky none of your _runners_ have caused trouble down that block,” Hwanwoong drawls, “because they’d have no protection if they did.”

“Our pack doesn’t cause trouble.” Byeongkwan’s wide smile is clearly meant to provoke. “Can’t say the same for some of you.”

Byeongkwan glances pointedly to the man kneeling at Hwanwoong’s feet, leashed with a heavy pronged collar around his neck. The insult is obvious — one that wouldn’t mean a thing to any member of the rest of the coven with centuries behind them, but Geonhak is a fledgling, still with bloodlust and fury hot in his veins.

Seoho watches almost in slow motion as Geonhak snarls, pulls forward in Hwanwoong’s hold and attempts to snap at Byeongkwan. It pulls an answering growl from Sehyoon, silent and calm before now, suddenly threatening when he pushes in front of a grinning Byeongkwan.

“See?” Byeongkwan laughs as Geonhak continues to tug and growl. “At least we control our pups.”

_“Byeongkwan.”_

Junhee’s voice rings clear and sharp in the room and everything stops. Even Seoho can feel its command, something bone-deep and instinctual that only a pack leader can wield.

Byeongkwan stares at Junhee for a long moment, a silent conversation. He snorts, retreating to lean on the back wall with arms crossed, pointedly not looking at anyone. Sehyoon goes with him, returning to his spot sitting at Byeongkwan’s feet.

“I’m sorry about that,” Junhee says, suddenly all charm and toothy smiles again. “Should we continue…?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind giving us a moment.” Hwanwoong returns the smile, but it’s tight at the edges. Junhee nods, standing and joining his boys at the back of the room.

Seoho watches, tense, as Hwanwoong gets his hand in the back of Geonhak’s collar, pulling so the prongs dig deep into Geonhak’s throat, nearly choking him.

“Now is _not_ the time for you to act like this,” he hisses, other hand gripping Geonhak’s chin. Geonhak bares his teeth, tries to wrench his head out of Hwanwoong’s hold.

“But he —”

 _“He_ does not make the rules.” Hwanwoong examines the angry lines of Geonhak’s face, schooling the irritation in his own expression to a kind of cold apathy.

Seoho snaps to attention when Hwanwoong gestures him over, Youngjo following suit. They’ve done this for long enough to know his tells, what he needs from them.

“Will the two of you please deal with him?” Hwanwoong asks, though it’s not a question. Youngjo nods.

Geonhak growls and tries once more to shake Hwanwoong’s hold.

“I don’t need to be _dealt with_ —”

He’s muffled by Hwanwoong’s gloved hand sliding over his mouth, leather-clad palm sealing in his infuriated noises.

“I’ll get the others for you,” Youngjo says. He looks down at Geonhak, something between pity and fondness sitting on his delicate features. “How pretty do you need his face later?”

“Do whatever you want,” Hwanwoong answers, letting go of Geonhak completely and turning around to settle back in his chair at the negotiating table.

Seoho locks eyes with Youngjo, nodding. He takes the discarded end of the leash, wrapping it around his hand a few times so the lead isn’t too long, and tugs Geonhak out of the room.

It’s a short walk to the back of their compound, past doors that lead to bedrooms and studies; a small library; his and Keonhee’s shared laboratory; Youngjo and Hwanwoong’s studio. At the back is an unfinished room with a heavy door, scuffed wood floors and no furniture to speak of save a small table in the corner.

This is where he leads Geonhak, shoves him in without care and closes the door after him. They like to let him have a minute or two to himself, first, to work himself up before they take him down. Through the door, Seoho hears a muffled yell, the thump of fists battering against the walls.

Youngjo arrives soon after, having roused the others to take their places in the parlor. In that time, he’s also pulled on long gloves, nearly up to his elbows, leather and butter-soft. Seoho’s amused and fond in turns by how vain Youngjo can be, even in moments like this.

“Ready?” Seoho asks, and Youngjo nods.

When they push open the door, Geonhak’s crouched and curled up against the back wall, snarling and spitting, glaring at the two of them with all the venom of a starved hyena.

"Hwanwoong's mad at you," Seoho sing-songs, already grinning at Geonhak's aggression. Youngjo closes the door behind him, the lock falling into place with a heavy sound.

"Don't care," Geonhak grits out, rolling out his neck. He reaches up and unhooks the leash from his collar, throwing it to the side.

Youngjo laughs quietly from behind him. "Usually you care a whole lot about what Woong thinks, puppy."

Geonhak growls — full on _growls,_ and it makes Seoho want to laugh. He's so transparent and they haven't even begun. He lets a smirk spread his lips instead, striding to the table along the other wall and retrieving the familiar pair of custom gloves that he keeps for just such occasions; thick and well-worn, with tiny spikes all over the palms and fingers.

He turns and his smirk widens to see that Youngjo's slipped on his brass knuckles over his own gloves, heavy and deadly on his delicate hands. It's not often he uses them, but these nights, in this room, are a familiar exception.

"Woongie wants us to make a mess out of you," Youngjo tells Geonhak, lips turning up at the edges. "Aren't you excited?"

"Fuck off," Geonhak spits, tossing his head. It throws the lines of his throat into stark relief in the dim light of the room, and Seoho can see the deep, angry indents in his skin just under the choke collar where he'd been pulling.

Seoho doesn't respond with words — it’s not what they’re here to do. He takes a moment to evaluate his options, then falls into action. A swift kick to Geonhak's stomach sends the fledgling sprawling and wheezing across the concrete floor, catching himself on his hands and pushing himself back up to standing.

“Seoho…” he rumbles, a warning that would send any human running but just makes Seoho giggle.

Anger makes Geonhak sloppy. When Seoho steps towards him, he lunges without thought, nearly forgetting that there’s another person in the room with them — Youngjo takes the opening, drives his elbow into Geonhak’s back and sends him sprawling once again, face-first onto the floorboards.

He’s back up in the span of a ragged breath, eyes dark and narrowed, gaze flickering between the two of them. His arms come up in front of him in a defensive stance, knees slightly bent and hackles raised, and it makes Seoho want to tear him into pieces.

It’s clear what Geonhak needs, and a glance over at Youngjo proves they’re on the same page about it. Quick as anything, Youngjo darts forward and feigns a right hook, and the opening it creates when Geonhak lifts his arms to block it allows Youngjo to get in a nasty gut-punch, brass knuckles and flesh connecting with a sickening noise.

Geonhak gives a strangled yell but doesn’t go down completely, stumbling back to the center of the room, bent double and wheezing. The glare he gives Youngjo is spitting mad, venomous, but it bounces cleanly off Youngjo’s placid smile.

“I think the dog’s angry with us,” Seoho sings, taking one sidestep and then another, placing himself behind Geonhak. Youngjo takes the cue, beginning a lazy circle around Geonhak to match Seoho’s pace, keeping him cornered even without a wall at his back.

Geonhak barks out a laugh. “I don’t care what you do to me.”

It's permission to really take him down, his predator's build hardy and freakishly strong but still no match for two others of his own kind. Seoho uses that strength against him, sets him up for Youngjo to slip in and land solid, nasty hits that would leave a human nearly dead. Youngjo opens up a cut across one of Geonhak's perfect cheekbones and then another that splits his lip, bloodying his teeth and giving him the look of a feral animal.

Hurt and staggering, dripping blood and sweat, Seoho can tell that Geonhak doesn't have much left in him. He catches Youngjo's eye, gives him a quick nod.

Youngjo wraps his arms around Geonhak's torso, pinning his arms at his sides and giving Seoho enough of an opening to dart in and grip Geonhak's jaw in one gloved hand. The tiny spikes easily break the skin where his fingertips press in, but they both know that if Geonhak struggles another inch, a hundred tiny wounds will open up where the rest of Seoho's hand grips him.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," Seoho coos, bringing his other hand up to push his thumb into Geonhak's slightly open mouth. The spikes scrape over his raw, torn lips, and Geonhak lets out a strangled gasp when Seoho presses down on his tongue, hard enough to draw blood from a dozen little punctures.

Geonhak's gone limp in Youngjo's hold, his only movement a constant kind of shudder. In a split second, Seoho looks between him and Youngjo, notes the way Youngjo's eyes are fixed only on Geonhak's lips as Seoho slowly draws his thumb out of Geonhak's mouth.

"Show me," Seoho demands, and Geonhak stares, stubborn, for a long breath before he lets his tongue loll out. A mix of drool and blood drips down, spattering onto Seoho's boots. Seoho feels his lips curl.

He steps back and Youngjo lets go of Geonhak, putting enough distance between them that Seoho can backhand Geonhak across the face with a precision that's almost clinical, sending blood and spit flying.

Youngjo doesn't waste the momentum Seoho's created, shoving Geonhak's shoulder and sending him easily to the ground.

"Fuck," Geonhak grits out, pushing himself up on his forearm. Youngjo doesn't give him that dignity, kicking him over onto his back and grinding the sole of his boot down into Geonhak's sternum.

"Is the dog done fighting?" Seoho asks, arms crossed, stepping forward to peer down at Geonhak.

"Why don't we ask him," Youngjo replies, smiling just slightly. "You done, puppy?"

Geonhak's eyes slip shut, his breath laborious and heavy. It feels infinite before he finally gives a jerky little nod.

"Good boy," Seoho simpers. He peels off one glove, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thump that makes Geonhak’s eyes flutter open. Seoho crouches by Geonhak's head, presses at the little wounds on his cheek oozing blood with bare fingers.

He makes sure Geonhak’s watching when he brings his fingers to his lips to taste. It's _good —_ fledgling blood always is, fresher and more vital than the stuff that flows through the veins of older vampires like himself and Youngjo. Geonhak’s eyes cloud with hunger and pain as Seoho licks his fingers clean.

"You'll need to clean up your mess before we give you anything, little puppy." Seoho glances up at Youngjo. “Look, you got his hands all dirty. You’d better fix that.”

Youngjo removes his boot from Geonhak’s chest, allowing him to get to his knees. It’s a testament to how well Hwanwoong’s got him trained that it’s his default, instinctual position when he’s been taken enough out of his head.

Geonhak’s lips hang open, oozing and slick with red-tinged spit. The idea that he’ll be able to clean anything with his mouth is laughable, but it doesn’t stop Youngjo from proffering his brass knuckles, the metal smeared with blood.

Geonhak doesn’t need guidance when it’s so clear what’s expected of him. He closes the distance, licking over the skin-warm metal as Youngjo watches. Each pass of his tongue leaves them messier than before, but that’s not the point. The point lies in the way Geonhak shudders, the way Youngjo leans in, the way Seoho feels something cold and satisfied in his stomach watching the two of them fit together.

Youngjo seems to lose patience with their little game quickly, bending to catch Geonhak’s lips with his own, cupping his cheek in one gloved hand. Seoho can tell that he’s being careful about Geonhak’s split lip — for all the fight he can give, Youngjo’s always been too gentle for his own good, never too rough when left to his own devices. He’ll give Geonhak what he needs, but he’s not a true sadist.

Seoho can't say the same. He steps forward and gets his hand in Geonhak’s hair, hauling him back and away from Youngjo. Geonhak grunts at the strain on his neck and the prickle on his scalp.

“Youngjo’s always too nice to you, puppy,” Seoho hisses. “You still have a mess to clean up.”

Seoho gives Geonhak a few moments to process, his brows furrowed in hazy confusion. His eyes widen deliciously in the split second between realization and Seoho’s boot coming down on his cock through his pants, hard and unrelenting.

 _“Fuck!”_ Geonhak grits out, eyes fixed on the ceiling, features twisted in agony. Seoho laughs, glancing at Youngjo — he’s watching the whole exchange with a strange kind of indulgent fondness that makes Seoho want to take more, push further. Seoho grins at him, grinding down harder to make Geonhak cry out, caught up in the exhilaration of Youngjo’s gaze on them.

With fire in his chest and a last vicious press of his heel, Seoho lets go and pushes Geonhak away. He curls around himself protectively, cradling the pain that burns like a physical thing at the center of his body. He’s breathing hard, deafening in the otherwise quiet room.

“Come on, puppy,” Youngjo prompts, “Seoho’s waiting, and we have to get you back to Hwanwoong soon.”

Geonhak looks up at Seoho with broken desperation on his swollen face. Seoho stares back at him, expectant.

It’s like a circuit locking into place when Geonhak’s lips touch the toe of Seoho’s boot, his back curved in tamed subservience, hands clenched in loose fists. Seoho watches, grinning, _burning,_ as Geonhak licks the blood and spit and dirt off the shiny leather. He’s sloppy, no finesse, movements driven by defeat, and Seoho’s boots won’t be any cleaner at the end of this but it doesn’t _matter._

Geonhak rests his forehead on the toe of Seoho’s boot when he’s done, breathing heavily, just waiting — for praise, for more pain, for another order. Seoho catches Youngjo’s eye, gestures for the discarded leash on the ground. Youngjo nods, goes to retrieve it.

Wordless, Youngjo bends and hooks it back onto Geonhak’s collar. The click of the clasp feels like yet another piece falling into its proper place, like tumblers in a lock.

Youngjo tugs on the end of the leash, the prongs of the collar forcing Geonhak up and back to sit properly on his knees once again. His shoulders curve forward, hands relaxed and open in his lap.

“Pretty thing,” Youngjo murmurs, running his still-gloved hand through Geonhak’s hair. “You’ll be good now?”

Geonhak nods, and Youngjo smiles. It’s that soft yet covetous smile that makes Seoho’s heart hurt sometimes (and he knows he’s not alone in that).

“Take this to Hwanwoong,” Youngjo says, handing Geonhak the end of his own leash. “You’ll be okay.”

Geonhak lets out a shuddering breath, standing on weak, aching limbs. They watch him leave, giving him some time before they follow him back to the parlor.

“He’s getting better,” Seoho comments. “He probably doesn’t have too many years left of this before he settles down.”

“Maybe,” Youngjo concedes. He slides off his brass knuckles, followed by the blood-spattered gloves. “But some of it might just be him.”

Seoho hums. He’s not entirely bothered by the idea.

When they get back to the parlor, the wolves have gone. Hwanwoong remains in his chair, looking over some document or another, while Keonhee and Dongju curl together on one of the loveseats.

Geonhak’s on his knees, head resting on Hwanwoong’s thigh. The abrasions on his cheek and lips smear blood onto Hwanwoong’s pants but he doesn’t seem to care, too focused on petting through the short hair at the nape of Geonhak’s neck, nails scratching down until they hit the line of the collar.

“How did it go?” Youngjo asks, crossing the room to join Keonhee and Dongju on the loveseat. Dongju immediately crawls onto his lap, demanding attention — nearly childlike, even for a fae of his age.

“We’re going to reconvene in a few weeks,” Hwanwoong replies. “Need to meet with the other coven down on 28th Street, first.”

Seoho settles on the big armchair in the corner, exhaustion prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“That’s Myeongie’s coven,” Dongju says, lips twisted in sleepy suspicion.

“Right, so they’ll back us up on this.” Hwanwoong clicks off his tablet, giving his full attention to Geonhak. “Was he good for you?”

It takes Seoho a second to realize that the question is directed at him.

“Eventually,” he says, unable to suppress a quiet giggle, because when is Geonhak ever good for any of them when Hwanwoong isn’t there?

Keonhee grumbles, “Made me get out of bed for this, so — hey!”

Seoho looks over to see that Dongju’s got one of Keonhee’s hands between his teeth, letting him go as quickly as he’d gotten hold of him. It’s almost funny, how much Dongju enjoys biting when he’s the only one of them that doesn’t need to do it.

They settle, slowly, comfortably. Geonhak rumbles in contentment at Hwanwoong’s hand in his hair. Seoho lets his eyes slip shut.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! kudos/comments are always appreciated!
> 
> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dopaminekeeper)! 18+ only


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